“Mum, I dont want to go to Grandmas!” cried little Emily, seven years old, wriggling free from her mothers arms. “She doesnt like me! She only likes Uncle Michael!”
“Emily, dont be silly,” replied Sarah, tiredly buttoning her daughters coat. “Grandma loves all her grandchildren the same.”
“Its not true!” Emily stomped her foot. “Yesterday she gave Arthur, Aunt Sophies son, ice cream, and she gave me nothing!”
“Maybe you had a sore throat?” Sarah suggested.
“No! She just doesnt like me because Im not her real granddaughter!”
Sarah froze, the hairbrush still in her hand. How could a seven-year-old know such things? Who had told her?
“Emily, who said that?”
“No one,” Emily turned to the window. “I figured it out. Arthur says his dad and mine are brothers. And I know my dad isnt my real dad. My real dad lives far away.”
Sarahs chest tightened. She sat beside Emily on the sofa.
“Emily, listen carefully. Dad James is your real dad. He loves you so muchhes cared for you since you were two. And Grandma Margaret loves you too.”
“Then why does she always praise Arthur and scold me?” Tears welled in the little girls eyes.
Sarah didnt know what to say. Because Emily was right. Her mother-in-law *did* treat her differently from her eldest sons grandson.
“Love, were running late,” James stepped into the room. “Emily, hurry up or Grandma will be waiting.”
“I dont want to go!” Emily sobbed. “She doesnt like me!”
James glanced at his wife, confused.
“Whats wrong?”
“Ill explain later,” Sarah whispered. “Emily, get dressed. Well all go together.”
They walked through the park in silence. Emily dragged her feet behind them, sniffling now and then. James carried a shopping bag for his mother, while Sarah braced herself for the visit.
Margaret had always been difficult. When James introduced Sarah and their two-year-old daughter, his mother had been cold.
“Why take on a child that isnt yours?” shed told him. “Find a proper girl and have your own.”
But James was stubborn. He loved Sarah and Emily as his own. They married, he adopted her legally, and gave her his name.
Margaret accepted it, but she never truly loved her granddaughterespecially when her eldest son, Richard, gave her a “real” grandson: Arthur.
“Is she home?” James asked, knocking on the door.
“Yes, yes,” came the voice inside. “Come in.”
Margaret opened the door and hugged her son.
“My James, Ive missed you!” She kissed his cheek and nodded at Sarah. “Hello, Sarah.”
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson.”
“And wheres my little granddaughter?” Margaret noticed Emily hiding behind her father.
“Im here,” the girl mumbled.
“Come in, sit down,” Margaret led them to the living room. “How are you? James, youve lost weight!”
“No, Mum, Im fine,” he laughed. “Sarahs cooking keeps me well-fed.”
“Thats good. And Emily, hows school? Good marks?”
“I do all right,” Emily muttered.
“Emily, answer your grandmother properly,” Sarah chided.
“Oh, leave her,” Margaret waved a hand. “Children are like that. Arthur got a D in Maths yesterday. Richard spent all afternoon helping him study.”
“Emily only gets As in Maths,” James said proudly.
“Lovely,” Margaret said flatly. “Richard mentioned hes coming by with Arthur today. They miss their uncle.”
Sarah saw Emilys face darken. She knew Grandma was happier to see one grandchild than the other.
“Mum, remember when Emily and I visited last month?” James asked. “She recited a poem for you.”
“I remember,” Margaret nodded. “It was sweet.”
“Would you like me to do another?” Emily offered shyly.
“Go on, then.”
Emily stood in the middle of the room and recited a poem about spring. Sarah watched her daughters effort, her hope to be loved.
“Very nice,” Margaret clapped when she finished. “Now go wash your handslunch is ready.”
Emily obeyed, and Sarah stayed to help set the table.
“Mrs. Wilson, may I speak with you?” she whispered.
“About what?”
“Emily. She feels you treat her differently.”
Margaret slammed a plate down.
“I dont know what you mean.”
“You do. Children notice everything. She cried today because she didnt want to come.”
“And what have I done wrong?” Margaret turned sharply. “I feed her, I invite her over.”
“But she sees the difference. When Arthur visits, you kiss him, hug him, give him gifts. With Emily, youre distant.”
“Because she isnt *mine*!” Margaret snapped. “I didnt raise her! She has her own grandmotherlet *her* care for her!”
“Mrs. Wilson, Emily isnt to blame for not being Jamess blood. Shes been your granddaughter for five years. He adopted her, gave her his name.”
“Papers dont change blood,” Margaret scoffed. “Arthur is my grandson. This ones just a goddaughter.”
Sarahs throat tightened.
“So youll never love my daughter?”
“Why should I? When you have children of your own, *then* well talk.”
Just then, Emily walked in.
“Mum, why did Grandma say Im a goddaughter?” Her voice trembled. “Im her granddaughter!”
Sarah realized shed heard everything. Margaret flushed.
“Emily, go to your father,” Sarah urged.
“No! I want to know why Grandma doesnt love me!”
“I *do* love you,” Margaret insisted.
“Liar! You said Im a goddaughter! Im *not*Im Dad Jamess real daughter!”
Emily ran off crying. Sarah glared at her mother-in-law and followed.
In the living room, Emily was sobbing on the sofa beside James. He stroked her hair, bewildered.
“What happened?”
“Your mother called Emily a goddaughter,” Sarah said coldly. “And she meant it.”
James went pale.
“Mum, is this true?”
Margaret stepped out, shamefaced.
“Son, I didnt mean It just slipped out.”
“Grandma said Im not hers,” Emily wept. “That I have my *own* grandma.”
James stood. Sarah saw his jaw tighten.
“Mum, how could you?”
“James, I only”
“You only *what*?”
In the end, after many tears and hard words, Grandma Margaret hugged Emily and promised to love her as a true granddaughter. And from that day on, the little girl never felt alone in that family again.
Sometimes, love isnt about bloodits about choice. And choosing to love, even when its hard, is what makes a family real.
